Page 12 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
“We’ll have to do with what we have,” Amelie said. “All our packs can be used to cushion Mister McLowe.”
“Now, now,” the older man chortled as he came to the cart’s side. “I’m nae so delicate, younglin’s. I can endure more than ye might expect.”
“That’s still nay reason to put ye under any strain,” Amelie replied, kindly. “Damien, do ye think we might get a warm meal in the town?”
“Aye,” he replied, while helping his mentor into the cart. “We should get some warm broth or milk, perhaps even mutton or beef.”
After joining Mister McLowe in the cart, Amelie opened her pack and pulled out a blanket. It was getting colder, and with the overcast sky, he expected it to snow soon.
“Damien told me ye took him in as a boy?” Amelie asked.
From his place in the saddle, Damien did not have to worry that Ben would betray him. Ben had a stake in his unlawful acts as he was the one who picked those to be robbed and took half of what Damien earned.
“Aye,” his mentor said, “When I first saw him, I thought he was a lad of six, with how small he was. Then, when I ken that he was ten and his parents were long dead, I had to do somethin’. T’wouldnae be right to let him die when I could help.”
“I’m glad ye did,” Amelie replied. “What was he like as a boy?”
Now, Damien did wince. God forbid Ben told her the most embarrassing stories of his life.
“Nay, lass,” Benjamin laughed. “I’ll let Damien tell ye those himself. All I will tell ye is that he was a curious boy, lookin’ everywhere and askin’ about everythin’. When we get to an inn, ye can ask him yerself.”
While keeping his eyes ahead, Damien felt her gaze on the back of his neck. What made a tremor run though his spine was when Amelie said, “I think I will.”
* * *
They found an inn at the far end of the village, one that was perfectly placed for incomers and those preparing for a long journey out and into the highlands. Damien paid a shilling for Amelie’s room, and one for him and Ben.
While Amelie was away, Damien gave Ben his meal of stew.
“I hope we get to Dolberry quickly.”
“Why?” Benjamin asked. “I think ye should take the time to enjoy this journey. A time like this doesnae come twice. Amelie seems to be a lovely lass, Damien. I ken ye are a bit reluctant to share yer past with her, and anyone with yer life should be, but I daenae see how it can hurt.”
Memories of his worst years flared up, he felt cold sweat prickle on the back of his neck at the visceral memory of hot soot filling his throat. He recalled the cold chill of wintery nights seeping through his thin rags, the sickening feeling of thick mud caking his legs while he searched for anything valuable in swamps, and the crippling burn of constant starvation.
“Ye think so?” His lips pressed tight.
“It might get ye closer to her,” Ben said. “I think she’s still wary of ye, Damien, and ye need her to trust ye.”
The word trust sent clutches of fear through him and Damien dragged a hand through his hair. The first thing he had learned in his life was not to trust anyone—and even after Ben had proved that he could trust the older man, a part of him still held onto his distrust.
If he could gain Amelie’s trust and give her his, by telling her about his past, mayhap it would give him cause to hope again, but the jaded part of him balked at the notion.
“I’ll…I’ll consider it,” Damien replied, then stood. “I’m goin’ to see if the horse is fed and the cart is set for the night.”
He left the room and the inn by the back door, and strode out in the chilly air to the little barn the inn owners said he could use for the animal. He slipped inside to see Morag munching on a pile of linseed hay. He went to the stallion and rubbed his neck.
“Good boy,” he said. “I need ye to be strong on the rest of the journey, all right?”
Since the day Damien had bought the foal, Morag had been his constant companion. “It’s goin’ to be harder, boy, the mountain road is goin’ to challenge ye. I might even have to unhitch ye and let ye ride with Ben alone while the beautiful lass and I walk, if it comes to it.”
Morag snuffled in his hand and Damien was tempted to smile, when a soft voice came from the entrance of the stall, “Ye think I’m beautiful?”
Dropping his hand, Damien cocked his head to her.
“Has nay one ever told ye?” His gaze dropped to her hand, where she was holding a carrot. His brow ticked up. “Is that for ye, or for Morag?”
“I dinnae ken he had a name.” Her face warmed.
